Genuine
by Ginny Perry
Summary: Ghetsis mistakens N's behavior for disrespect. Warnings inside. Harmoniashipping.


Well, it was bound to happen eventually... _another _Harmoniashipping fic from me. I wanted to write a first-person Ghetsis fic that really showed off how absolutely blood insane he is.

As usual, contains rape, incest, homosexuality, violence, light gore (?), and a main character off his fucking rocker.

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In all honesty, I never really quite knew what to expect, these years of my life.

It was all planned out so perfectly. I had set my goals down to the exact numbers, dates, ages, past even until the year in which I expected to die just in case I was fortunate enough to live past my prime.

These years, planned between the ages of 22 and 40, were meticulously chosen as the most ideal. But I did not know what would become of myself as I was given the task of raising a male child into adulthood.

I really cannot fathom anyone's reasoning behind willingly wanting to have children.

When I look at my son, I'm filled with two conflicting notions: pride in the fact that he is a manifestation of my own flawless genetics and nearly unlimited possibility for greatness, and shame at the fact that he falls so short of his potential.

It is to the point where his mere presence makes me nauseous. I feel humiliated. As if his pitiful existence is by my own fault, and I bear the embarrassment he is too foolish to even experience on his own.

I attempt to be impersonal. I try to force him away. I do not want to feel that humility that pains my chest. But he comes crawling back, quite literally, crying for his "daddy," regardless of the fact that he receives his punishments. His deaddened eyes are glassed over, showing glints of terror but also longing for affection.

A brand of affection contrived by none other than myself. A mixture of carefully-planned "punishments" and my own rash episodes of lashing out.

So when my son stands in my doorway, asking me to tuck him into bed even after being told dozens of times before to never ask, that feeling of shame mingled with rage rises once more.

This time, I do not tell him not to ask. I agree and follow him back to his sickening bedroom, led by an eager arm and a bright smile. He is not smart enough to fake his emotions. They are genuine. What a naive boy. The fact that he made the effort to lead _me_, as if he were somehow higher than me, mightier than I...

He had quite the nerve.

His room is so gaudy it hurts my eyes. He made a makeshift bed out of blankets on the floor, a stuffed darumaka laying next to a pillow. I grimaced; eleven years old (or was it twelve?) is much too old to be comforted by such childish things. But those two women know what they are doing, and I have to constantly reassure myself this atrocious display of near infantilism is necessary.

He took his place under his blankets, curling up as tight as his tiny body allowed. Something about the way his limbs moved below those sheets. Contently. Snugly. I don't even know _what _it was, but...

I hated it. I hated every thing _about _him. How insignificant and weak and utterly useless he was physically and mentally, living in some sort of sick fantasy of comfort and freedom, smiling in the face of someone of clear superior to him as if he was mocking everything I had planned and worked for. Asking _me _for a favor. A trite request to make him even _more _complacent, as if his own life and all of these frivolous things were not enough.

I had to show him the errors of his selfishness.

He opened his mouth to speak, but immediately I grabbed hold of one of the blankets that covered that lithe body of his. Balling it up quickly, I shoved the fabric against his face, covering his mouth with a cupped hand and pushing forcefully against his nose. I heard a shrill scream as the tiny body below me began squirming, covers skewing as bare feet kicked in the air. The heat of his breath reached my palms through the blanket as the sound was muffled. Kicking intensified. Desperation. The desire to live so apparent in his writhing body.

"Your life is so fragile," I mused quietly. "You may think me more lowly than you, but you are _wrong_. I could break you so easily, boy. I could so easily put you in your rightful place."

Momentarily, I let go, eliciting a harsh gasp and choke as he inhaled nearly too much air. The uneven hitches signalled he was sobbing. How humbling this must have been.

"No, daddy, I-!"

No? _No? _He had the _audacity _to tell _me _"no." No one questions my position. _No one_. _Especially_ my disgraced excuse for a progeny.

I took him by his hair, the same bright shade as his mother's, dragging him out of his room and down the hallway. He cried and squirmed, shouting things I could not make sense of, whining like the pitiful child he really was.

It was until I pulled him into my own bedroom did he speak clearly.

"_No, no, no, please, please, I don't want this, no!_"

Before I was able to throw him onto the bed, he flailed harder, kicking the back of my leg as he fought against my steps. I froze where I stood and my grip went limp.

He fought against me. He used physical force. He _kicked _me. And as I looked down into those wide eyes, pupils shrunk to pinpoints.

And he ran.

Such a paradox. He put on a strong facade, carried an air of egotism and elitist pride, walked with a holier-than-thou step and depreciated a figure as high as me, his own father. But when faced with a mere threat of retaliation, he ran like a coward.

I did not have to chase after him. I knew where he went. I did not have to waste precious energy on sprinting after him when his feeble mind was almost _too _predictable. Where else would he have gone off to but the solace of that silly room of his?

As I cracked the door, I heard a tell-all whimper, but I pretended it fell on deaf ears. There he was. Laying under that pile of blankets, clinging to that stuffed toy like it were his own life, as if it would flutter away if left unattended. He was not facing me; he was turned towards the wall, trembling almost violently as he tried to hold back choked sobs. As I approached, I heard him whispering to himself as if he were mad.

"_It's okay it's okay it's okay it's okay it's okay I'm okay I'm okay I'm okay everything is going to be okay everything is going to be okay" _

I bent down and grasped a colorful plastic train, one of the boy's favorite toys. The paint was well-worn and peeling, obviously played with for years. How suitable.

"_Everything is going to be okay everything is going to be okay everything is going to be-_"

No matter how light and flimsy plastic may be, it hits hard when swung with enough force.

I cannot assume that the sight of blood is a sign of enough punishment. Blood does not mean pain. Cries and screams do not mean pain. Cries and screams can be fabricated, and somehow, his sounds did not sound genuine to me. This was a _test_. He knew that if I thought he had suffered enough, I would stop. But I am better than him, smarter and more cunning. I can see through his "genius" plan.

As I gripped the front of his shirt and looked into his battered face, I could not stay silent.

"You think that I am threatened by you, don't you?"

A single tear fell from his half-open eye. The other was shut, encased in swollen, purple flesh that shielded his spotted vision. Bruised cheek. Cracked tooth visible through split, parted lips. As his mouth closed to form a rebuttal, I swung my clenched fist into ribs until the resistance of bone gave into itself and a gurgled scream escaped him.

"Look how easily you bend and break under my hands. Do you not know what I am capable of?"

With a yank, I brought him to his feet. His knees buckled but I began leading him towards the door. Those tiny feet struggled to support his weight and skipped and stumbled to the point of me having to drag him once more.

I knew what had to be done. I knew how to break him, knew the only way to be sure.

I brought him into another bedroom, well-furnished by darker-toned furniture. A large vanity desk sat adjacent to a canopied bed adorned with crimson sheets. N knew this room well. His faked whimpers signaled that he knew where he was; the black marble floor was all he needed to see.

Those whimpers irritated me. It was as if he were _asking _to be punished. He had been taught to be silent, told that kings were to be silent in the face of danger, expected to remain calm when others would panic. And yet here he was. _Whining_. Purposeful mockery of everything I had worked on. All that had been so carefully planned and taught.

I had planned on being more gentle but I could not hold back; I threw him into the desk and watched his head crack into the drawers before falling to the cold floor. The hard wood reverberated with the blow, quaking as I bent down to bring him to his feet once more. He was barely conscious and curiously not uttering a word. I _knew _it. He did not even sniffle. He _had _been faking this whole time!

The boy would not stand on his own accord. At last I gave up and bent him over the desktop. His head slumped pitifully against the hard wood.

"Remove your pants."

He ignored my request. I held his head to the surface of the desk as I yanked at his pajama bottoms, exposing naked flesh to the cool chill of the room. That milky white skin was covered in goosebumps and bore scars of old times. They were shaking like the branches of a tree in the windy night.

I cupped the round curve of his ass and his trembling intensified, those hitched gasps returning as he realized my intentions. They sounded a bit more genuine now, but I would not turn away now just because he was truly frightened.

My fingers curled, nails digging, and his body stiffened as he let out a squeak. I smiled for a moment. How humbling this must have been, bent at my mercy like this. It was still obvious, however, that he did not know the extent to which my mercy ran. How was I to be certain he would not pull such a disrespectful act twice?

I wrapped my hands around his limp member, slowly tugging in an attempt to coax it to life.

"Daddy, what are you-"

The sound of his voice irritated me. My hand that held his head to the surface tore back his head, forcing him to look at himself in the reflection of the mirror. His eyes were shut tight in a pained grimace as I felt him begin to harden in my hands. I couldn't hold back another smirk as I saw his cheeks flush a light shade of pink.

"Open your eyes," I demanded.

Green irises emerged behind his eyelids, gleaming through a thin layer of tears. His erection was stiff in my hands. I began pumping him slowly but skillfully, repressing a chuckle as I felt his hips thrust forward into my hands, seeking more stimulation. He was panting, now. This was not an act. He was _enjoying _this.

Now was the perfect time to humiliate him further.

"What do you see, boy?" I yanked at his hair, further pulling back his head until his neck was painfully strained. Tears had flooded his eyes and began dribbling down his cheeks. When he did not immediately respond, I jerked harder on his cock, and he cried out pitifully.

"Me... and you... ahh-!" My fingers twisted and tangled in his locks until I had him crooking his neck awkwardly to the side to avoid further discomfort. A quick shove to the hard wood bruised his cheekbone and temple and he cried out. Again, I lifted his head, allowing him to see his face as the swelling intensified.

"Don't play dumb, you miserable whelp."

"I don't know...!" he sobbed, desperation in his voice. "Daddy, please...!"

"Do you want to know what _I _see?" I cooed in his ear, smiling as I saw pure terror in his eyes reflected through the glass. He was whimpering again, a sound laced with fear and humiliation and... was it... pleasure?

"Y-Yes..." he squeaked. He knew better than to deny my question.

"I see nothing but a little slut enjoying his own father's punishments." Those tears fell harder, now; ragged gasps of uncaught breaths, the sniffled whines.

"No, n-no, I don't... I..."

"Then why are you so _hard_, hmm? Such a sickening premise. A boy chosen to be king _enjoying _such a thing. You're thrusting into my hand like you can't get enough. Perhaps you want more?"

His head fell as he wept, but I would not allow it. I wanted him to watch through this entire ordeal. Rarely did he see my face in these situations. I would not tolerate him to ignore any part of this. He had to be punished. Put in his place. Tonight, he would not be allowed to escape to the sanctuary of his mind. Not when he was forced to experience every aspect of it.

Serves him right.

I was achingly hard by this point, well aroused by the sight of such weakness below me. I shifted my robes to the side and freed my erection. I hadn't anticipated fucking him tonight, in all honesty, but some things are better off unplanned. The frenzy of it all was enough. I did not need him to prepare me, although those nights were certainly more enjoyable.

No, he was not a lover tonight. He was merely a toy.

His eyes grew wide as he felt the tip of my cock against him, but they shut quickly as I began forcing my way into him. As quickly as I could manage, savoring that usual way he stiffened against me. Yes, this was no doubt damaging him... he was even too tight for my liking, and it hurt me as well. But pain is a temporary notion. Unlike his pitiful body, I could tolerate such things. It would be worth the trouble in the end.

As I began pummeling into him, he _screamed_ like a child. It almost irritated me, but as I became more infatuated with the reflection of his expressions, they became distant. Those tears were genuine, rolling down his face, traveling over creases left by scrunched cheeks. I made sure to hold him in place by his hair, forcing his neck back and keeping the mirror in his only range of sight.

"Look at you," I teased, causing his eyes to settle on the reflection of my own facade. "Look what you've been reduced to. All of this could have been prevented had you been more graced, more respectful. You must learn to-"

I ceased when I heard the door open and footsteps into the room, quickly checking to see who had entered without permission. It was a male grunt.

"L-Lord N, is everything all-" As soon as the man saw the scene in front of him, his dark eyes grew large, his jaw falling in line with his shoulders. I pulled out of the small body and immediately the child slid off of the vanity, crumpling to the floor without any support.

The young man stood straight up as he saw me approach him, making any effort to restore the loss of favor. I stopped when I was mere inches from his face. His terrored eyes met mine as I retained strict composure.

"What is your name?" I asked him.

"Christopher," he replied, trying to diligently resist trembling. I was testing him.

"Ahh, Christopher... now tell me. What brings you here into one of my private bedchambers uninvited?"

The man was now visibly sweating and holding his breath. Certainly an entertaining sight to behold.

"I-I apologize, sir, I... heard what sounded like Lord N's cries, and... I feared for his safety..."

"Do you not recall the simple rules of this castle? Surely, you remember that designated rooms are off limits." Christopher swallowed hard. Toying him was so easy, it was almost becoming boring.

"Yes, sir, I remember those rules well, I was... just concerned about my Lord. I do not wish for anything bad to become of him." He was speaking so respectfully; such a shame I would have to waste him.

"Well, you saw what was occurring. Do you think anything bad was becoming of him?"

I did not have to glance at the small body on the floor. I knew he was listening; it was apparent in the grunt's eyes as he stared at him, a look of almost pleading. After a long pause, he spoke once more.

"No, sir." I flashed a smile.

"Obviously not. Then I suppose you would not mind witnessing your Lord's punishment? He has been quite misbehaved. He deserves much more, as you can imagine, but I am feeling merciful tonight." The man took a deep breath.

"Certainly, sir."

The weak-minded are so easy led to submission. I reminisced on this while returning to the vanity.

"Stand up," I commanded of the child. The trembling body at my feet made a feeble attempt to obey, but knees buckled. Impatient, I pulled him up by the hair and threw him against the wooden surface, letting out a whimper as he roughly made contact.

"Please, please, I'm sorry, don't-!" That voice again... it enraged me, and I forced myself back into his body without restraint. That familiar scream, spasming of muscles, legs shaking as though they'd break in half... how predictable.

As I plummeted into him, returning my grip on his hair to keep his eyes planted solely on the mirror, I leaned forward and whispered into his ear.

"That man over there is going to be put to death, all because of your insolence. You were selfish enough to scream out for help, to abuse others' sense of dedication. And now, I will lose someone who had so much potential. Look at yourself, boy. Look into the face of a murderer. Surely now, you realize that there is no punishment severe enough for you?"

He _sobbed_ as I wrapped my hand around his member, coaxing it back to life. If I could get him to enjoy this, to unmistakenably enjoy this, it would be all that much more humiliating. Skillfully, I pumped him in time with my thrusts, wrenching awkward cries of pain and pleasure.

His face was flushing red now, panting once more as if he couldn't get enough. I quickened my pace now, desperately wanting to push him over the edge. Before speaking, I glanced over at the young man watching and noticed his flustered expression. His pants were now painfully tight across his groin. I chuckled.

"You sick little whore," I teased in a mocking voice the the boy beneath me as his hitched breaths fell irregularly, signalling to me he was getting close. "You enjoy daddy's punishments, don't you? You seem to rather enjoy having an audience, as well. He looks to be quite pleased with this little show you've put on for him. Have you forgotten this is a punishment? Did you misbehave just to feel my cock in that tight ass of yours?"

"H-Hah, d-daddy, I'm..._ ahh_-!"

His body spasmed and writhed under me as I felt him climax, then collapse. The contractions were pleasurable; with that out of the way, I thrusted as deep as I could manage, wanting nothing but release. In one final attempt, I grabbed him by the shoulders and tore him towards me, burrying myself in to the hilt.

"P-Please... no more...!" his voice rasped through a dry throat. It was the last thing I heard before coming hard into that delicate little body of his, temporarily hazing my vision and phasing out all discomfort.

When I had finished, I pulled out of him and turned away, hearing a distinct thump as his limp body hit the floor. He sniffled softly as I walked towards the grunt. As he saw me approach, he stood up straight and held his breath. His attempt to remain stoic was amusing. Even with that scarlet face and obvious erection, he tried so dearly to stay poised. I glanced obviously down to his groin, then back up into those conflicted eyes.

"You fancy such things, Christopher?" The grunt opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself. The inner conflict brewing inside him could be seen all over his face. Torn between the truth and his expectations of what I desired to hear.

Pity there was no correct answer.

I snapped my fingers and the Shadow Triad came to my beckoning. With another specific wave of my hands, I set the order. I turned away towards the boy and smiled as genuinely as I could force when I saw him look up at me. Those eyes widened to saucers as I heard a cry and gurgling from behind me, the sound of liquid hitting the floor echoing through the corridor before the loud crash of a weight struck the marble.

The tears returned; the boy sobbed as he curled up, hyperventilating. He was not used to being exposed to realities such as this. I made a mental note to consider further subjection in the future. A good king did not fear or become troubled by death.

"Now look what you've done," I tsked as I approached the child once more. "All because of your selfishness. An innocent, concerned young man is dead." I grasped the front of his shirt that was soaked in sweat and tears, forcing him to look up at me once more. Bruised, battered, covered with tears, his look of horror only angered me. "Do you have nothing to say for yourself? This man was a viable resource, a dedicated member of this organization, and you _killed _him with your insolence! You are a _murderer_! And you have the nerve to stare at me as though you have no _clue_ as to why he is dead. Speechless. Am I to believe such ignorance is worthy of being king?"

At last, he was broken. The expression of total hopelessness washed over him, and he could not answer me. He could not speak, nor blink, nor breathe properly through his swollen throat. Words could not be formed. All I saw was pure self-hatred, loathing; I saw his heart harden. This was no longer a charade.

I let go of him and turned away. This was satisfactory enough to me, for now. I grimaced as I noticed the body laying on the floor; it was fortunate that stains did not show clearly on black marble. I walked to the door, making great effort not to step in blood.

"Please do not make me punish you again. I do not enjoy this. I truly wonder if you _want _me to punish you, and it saddens me. Now go back to your bed. You are not permitted to sleep here."

I saw him crawling, now, towards me. His limbs shook so fiercely that I wondered how he was able to support himself. I turned and shut the door behind me, no longer wishing to see him. I had had enough.

As I returned to my room and prepared for bed, taking a quick bath before changing and folding back the covers. After reviewing a letter placed on my nightstand from one of the other sages, I turned off my lamp and went to sleep.

Perhaps, tomorrow will be a better day.


End file.
